One such reason (this one offering cause for rejoicing and
thanksgiving) came to my mind a couple of weeks ago as my eye fell upon
a report in a recent weekend edition of the Wall Street Journal, bringing to
readers' attention an important fact
touching on the history of Christian art, namely that this past
November the first, All Saints Day, 2012, marked the 500th anniversary
of the unveiling of the newly completed masterpiece of the painter's
art that is the Sistine Chapel ceiling, generally considered, both for
its coherence and scope and for the stunning beauty of its individual
paintings [in number 175], to have reached a sublimity in the world of
painting that had never before been achieved and (in the projections of
any reasonable expectation) is unlikely to be achieved again. At
a time when our spirits could profit from of a bit of uplift, may I
share this report with you here.

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'Painting Is Not My Art' The
Wall Street Journal, November 18, 2012 William Wallace

... This year we celebrate the
500th anniversary of the unveiling of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel
ceiling. And given its ubiquity in popular culture, the
inconveniences of travel, and the endless lines at the Vatican, one may
wonder why anyone bothers to visit the chapel in person. But no matter how familiar the images, no
matter the trials of that crowded space, few visitors have not felt
AWE, standing under this titanic achievement.

The Sistine Chapel was built by
Pope Sixtus IV-hence its name. In 1505, the newly elected Pope Julius
II, nephew of Sixtus, called Michelangelo to Rome to carve his tomb,
envisioned to be the most grandiose funerary monument since
classical antiquity. After eight months quarrying marble,
Michelangelo returned to Rome only to discover that the pope's
attention had turned to war and the building of the new St. Peter's. Incensed that papal resources had been
deflected from the tomb, Michelangelo departed for Florence.

Not until 1508 was the artist
compelled back to Rome-not to renew work on the tomb, but to undertake
a task ill-suited to a SCULPTOR of marble: the PAINTING of the Sistine
Chapel ceiling. Michelangelo's objection that "painting is not my art"
proved weak against the will of the pope. But once reconciled to the
task, the artist devoted enormous energy to creating a masterpiece.

He wrote of his travails in an acerbic sonnet: "My beard to heaven. My
chest bent like a harp. The dripping brush making a rich pavement of my
face. My loins have been shoved into my guts, my butt is ballast." At
the bottom of the sheet, Michelangelo complained: "I'm not in a good
place, nor a painter." The ceiling,
however, tells a different story, one of magnificent achievement and
sublime beauty.

Michelangelo had no previous
experience directing a large-scale campaign in the demanding medium of
FRESCO, but here he employed more than a dozen painters and craftsmen
to help carry out the herculean project: hauling water up 65 feet of
treacherous ladders, slaking lime for plaster, grinding and mixing
pigments, pricking and transferring preparatory drawings, and painting
miles of architecture and ornament.

We now enter the chapel through
the small door under the Last Judgment-an expedient means of
controlling some 20,000 VISITORS EACH DAY. We properly should enter
under the Drunkenness of Noah [in the era of the Flood] and proceed in
reverse chronological order toward Creation and, by analogy, from our
present sinful state to a renewal of faith at the altar. But, no matter
where we enter, it is nearly impossible to view the ceiling in an
organized fashion since so many of the about 300 figures compete for
our attention. We tend to look in a discursive and fragmentary
manner-passing from one part of the chapel to another, sometimes
looking at the whole, then at a single scene or prominent figure. One's
experience of the ceiling is disparate, if not disorderly. Indeed, the figures and scenes are oriented to all
four directions, thus the ceiling works from various viewpoints.

In the most general sense, the
decoration celebrates God's creation as related in the first chapters
of Genesis. The Genesis narratives form a central spine, flanked by
seven male prophets and five female pagan prophetesses, 20 youths or ignudi, and the ancestors of
Christ in the lunettes and spandrels. The overall organization reminds
us that Michelangelo planned the entire scheme before he picked up a
brush. He and his assistants stretched taut strings across the
length and width of the chapel. The chalked lines were snapped against
the prepared surface to provide the linear framework for the entire
vault. And this was accomplished
along a multi-curved and highly irregular surface, 65 feet above the
chapel floor.

Because of their familiarity, we naturally focus on the Genesis
narratives. But those nine scenes constitute just 30% of the ceiling.
The power of Michelangelo's imagination draws us to such images as God
Creating Adam and the monumental, energetic deity in the Creation of
Sun and Moon. We scarcely notice that
architecture constitutes about 40% of the painted decoration, dividing
the curved vault into 175 DISTINCT PICTURE UNITS.

Michelangelo endured "the utmost
discomfort and weariness" and "a thousand anxieties" during the four
years he worked on the chapel's decoration. The ceiling was unveiled on
All Saints Day, Nov. 1, 1512. To his father, he wrote: "I have
finished the chapel I have been painting: The pope is very well
satisfied."

Until very recent times,
the ceiling was celebrated mostly for its figural repertoire;
Michelangelo was hailed as a supreme draftsman,
NOT a colorist. That assessment has CHANGED. Between 1980 and 1990,
conservators removed layers of accumulated dust, varnish and greasy
candle soot. To some, the BRILLIANT COLORS were an unwelcome shock; to
most they were a revelation.

In many ways the ceiling is a
compendium: of Michelangelo's art, of the Renaissance, of Christian
theology. Like Verdi's Requiem or Milton's "Paradise Lost," it is a
transcendent work of genius that will never be exhausted through
looking or describing. In the words of Goethe: "Until you have seen the
Sistine Chapel, you can have no adequate conception of what man is
capable of accomplishing."

Michelangelo was just 37 when he
completed the Sistine ceiling. Had he died in 1512, the painter
of the ceiling and the carver of the Bacchus, Pietà and David
would already have been judged a great artist. Yet he still had 52 more years to live, the
Last Judgment to paint, the Moses to carve and ST. PETER'S BASILICA TO
BUILD. We have many more 500th anniversaries to celebrate in the coming
years. [Emphasis added]

Mr. Wallace, professor of art
history at Washington University in St. Louis, has written many books
on Michelangelo.

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[Michelangelo died in 1564, the
very year in which Shakespeare was born. Talk about "passing the
torch!" of genius!]